Six Shots of Firewhiskey
by The Enigmatic Crow
Summary: How many shots does it take to forget? How many to stop hurting? One shot.


Hermione huddles against the cold stone wall, clutching a bottle of Ogden's old firewhiskey. Her quivering hands pour the clear liquid down into a shot glass as her body racks with silent sobs. She shouldn't have been doing this-she wasn't allowed to be drinking, but it was supposed to give the drinker courage, was it not? And... And the house elves had been so lenient when she had come down to the kitchens to ask for the elixir. Surely it couldn't be that bad. But she is a prefect- she can't break wizarding laws, much less break school rules.

_But Ron Weasley loves Lavender Brown._

Hermione closes her eyes and gulps down the shot.

…

_One_

Hermione nearly spits the alcohol out. The acrid taste burns her throat and threatens to consume her. She's crying again, tears streaming down her face, silently. It doesn't make her feel better, not in the slightest. The sinking feeling in her stomach is still there- burning, writhing.

_The party was in full swing when Hermione had started on charms homework, her mind resisting the thought on Ron Weasley. _

_That arrogant git. _

_It wasn't as though he hadn't been horrible before. He had. But this was different. This seemed almost like loathing. How had she known Harry didn't spike his pumpkin juice? Ron clearly thought so too. She was just trying to defend the rules- wasn't she? Why did he hate her so much?_

_Why didn't she hate him back? _

Her tears drip down as she presses the cool glass against her cheek. She examines the curly script of the label, tracing it softly with her fingertips; waiting.

_It hasn't worked. _

Hermione's lips open as the second shot goes down.

…

_Two_

It goes down easier this time; not much.

The warm sensation that had spread through her is gone. She's cold again. Cold and empty.

_The floorboards, Hermione thought bitterly, were not quite enough to keep out the noise. The muffled noises of cheering, laughing and chattering enveloped her every sense. She couldn't concentrate. _

_Maybe she could enjoy herself for once. _

_Maybe it would make her forget. _

_Maybe after tonight, when she woke up again in the morning, everything would be fine again between them._

_As she stepped down the stairs towards the mass of celebrating Gryffindors; she didn't see George and Fred sneaking in food from the kitchens; nor did she see Harry chatting avidly with Ginny; the slightest hint of blush creeping up his cheeks. Her eyes fell upon the couple in the corner._

_She saw them. _

Hermione readily swallows her third drink of the night.

…

_Three_

Her glass chinks against the floor. "Hooray" She mutters sardonically, mocking the memory of the celebrations.

She feels sick, though it is only her third glass.

The memory is still burned violently into her mind. Obsessively reliving it isn't going to help her; she knows, but she does so anyway.

_Ron and Lavender were standing in the corner of the room locked in a full embrace. Hermione felt her insides lurch as she saw Ron, his lips pressed tightly against hers._

_Oh god._

_Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was giggling; face flushed and body trembling. He leaned forward and kissed her again, staring at her with a look- a mixture of lust and excitement that Hermione had never seen; not directed to her anyway. _

_Hermione's mind went blank._

_She turned and her only coherent thought was screaming at her. _

_'Run.'_

_She did. _

As a dab of firewhiskey dribbles out of the corner of her mouth, Hermione realizes she's lying on the hard stone floor; an angry red wound on her forearm. She doesn't register the pain and only senses the ringing in her head. Her stomach reels as a wave of nausea crashes over her. _This _is not good for her. She shouldn't…

She no longer cares.

…

_Four_

Birds are lovely creatures. Hermione had always thought so. The pretty chirping things had always been associated with happiness in her mind.

It no longer is.

_Harry had cared. _

_It had been Harry who had found her in the empty classrooms; Harry who had come looking for her. When he stared at her with those concerned and startling green eyes she knew he was there to comfort her. She pretended nothing was wrong. "They're-er-really good…" He had muttered nervously when she brought attention to the birds. _

_ But he wasn't enough. Harry couldn't tame the amalgamation of every unpleasant feeling in comprehension that Hermione felt within her. _

_So she kept the façade that she didn't care. _

The corridor is starting to feel hazy, as Hermione sees the blackness creeping in the corner of her eyes. She's unaware of her surroundings now, in an almost dreamlike state. Clutching the bottle like a comfort toy, she feels fresh hot tears pouring down her face. She's still shaking, the tiny tremors of grief controlling her movements.

…

_Five_

She's pretty sure she's drunk, or has been since the second shot. She's never felt like this before.

_Soul consuming grief and anger. _

She doubts this is the courage firewhiskey is supposed to give bring.

_Lavender and Ron held hands when they entered the room. She clutched onto him tightly, staring in adoration. She giggles again in that high annoying tone. But when the couple caught sight of Harry and Hermione; her expression turns from hysterical to smug._

_It takes all of Hermione's self control not to strangle her on the spot. _

_Lavender left and Hermione stared coldly at Ron, watching the foolish grin on his face disappear. "You shouldn't keep Lavender waiting" She said in a bitter tone, "She'll wonder where you've gone." _

_ As Hermione left the room, she wishes she had just gone back to her dormitory. _

It's all she feels now; frustration and hurt and agony. It's excruciating. As tears well up and she quietly sobs, she wonders if crucio could possibly be more painful.

…

_Six_

She no longer feels anything but nauseous. Everything is a blur; imperceptible and abstract. When she touches her damp cheeks and wipes the corner of her eyes, sniffling, she realizes she has finished all of the firewhiskey.

_She had practically shrieked the curse; the first that came to her mind. She watched passively as the birds sped towards Ron like arrows. _

_White hot rage._

_She had felt an almost sadistic thrill, watching as they clawed at every inch of his flesh. _

_He deserved it. _

_Didn't he? _

…

_She hated him._

_She hated him because he was petty._

_She hated him because he was vindictive._

_She hated him with an absolute certainty. _

**_She hates him. _**

_She loves him. _


End file.
